


Secret Palette

by midnight_kisses



Category: X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Feelings Realization, M/M, Muse Wooseok, Painter Seungyoun, Repressed Feelings, Sentiments, because wooseok's beauty made me cry, overwhelmed with feelings, seungyoun appreciating ART, tear-jerker, this is lowkey poetic, to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21589372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnight_kisses/pseuds/midnight_kisses
Summary: The loud beating of Wooseok's heart was ridiculously in sync with each step that Seungyoun took towards him.The tall young painter tilted Wooseok's chin up with his fingers."Shall we begin?"
Relationships: Cho Seungyeon | Seungyoun/Kim Wooseok | Wooshin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 133





	1. Palette of Light Pink and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi,
> 
> this is your resident fluff writer trying to be brave 😂
> 
> I always wanted to improve my writing style since I seem to only excel in writing fluff and crack 😔
> 
> Being able to write in tones that are different from my one style—I want to achieve that 😭😭😭 so i decided to post some of my attempts.
> 
> (Note: this will only have 2 chapters)

  
Kim Wooseok—casually clad in his yellow sweater and denim shorts—timidly stood at the hallway of a particularly high-end apartment.

  
  


In front of a particular person's front door.  
  
  
  
  
His one hand was unconsciously fiddling with the strap of his brown leather sling bag while the other hesitantly reaches for the doorbell.   
  
  
  
  
  
He rang it once and held his breath.   
  
  
  
  
  
Not long after, the door before him opens to reveal a tall young man in dark green hoodie and baggy pants—a rather unimpressive get-up for someone of his status.   
  
  
  
Adding to this somewhat _'broke-college-student'_ aesthetics, the fringes of the taller guy's long, overgrown black hair flopped (quite attractively) over his beautiful, slanted, fox-like eyes as he smiles down at his same-aged—but considerably shorter—visitor.   
  
  
  
  
Most artists have their own quirks and Cho Seungyoun—being considered the young genius painter that he is—has a great deal of them.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Hello Seungyoun." Wooseok greeted the young painter with a small smile.   
  
  


  
Seungyoun returned it with a charming one of his own.   
  
  


  
"Wooseokie, please come in." The taller welcomed, opening the door wider for the smaller boy to enter.   
  
  
  
  
Wooseok removed his shoes before depositing it on the small shelf by the door.   
  
  
  
  
Eventhough he had been in the young artist's luxurious loft apartment a few times already, Wooseok still looks around the tastefully designed interior with fascination.   
  
  
  
There was not much decorations in Seungyoun's home.   
  
In fact, it was borderline minimalistic with a laidback earth-toned scheme and cozy lighting—which actually emphasises the very few pieces of unique decors and trinkets (as well as two or three choice paintings) strategically placed around his living space.   
  
  
  
  
"Would you like some tea or coffee? anything?" Seungyoun asked as he guides Wooseok towards the direction of the stairs to his atelier up the loft.   
  
  
"Tea, please." Wooseok replied.   
  
  
  
  
  
Seungyoun's atelier is exactly like how one would imagine an artist's workshop would look like:   
  
  
Worktables filled with jars with over a hundred different types of brushes. Different mediums stacked or bundled together—pens and pencils, charcoal, tubes and cans of all kinds of paint laid out in colorful arrays.   
  
  
Several easels that supports canvasses of different sizes are scattered around the place—some of them containing rough sketches, some are half-finished, while some finished oil paintings are already set up right next to the windows, air-drying under the faint afternoon sunlight.   
  
  
The large french windows were all thrown open at the moment: probably to diffuse the pungent scent of paint and turpentine that had accumulated in the room.   
  
  
A few minutes later, Seungyoun arrived with Wooseok's hot cup of tea as the smaller was preoccupied in surveying the finished works that lined the windows.   
  
  
  
Their hands touched when he accepted the cup.   
  
  
Along with the brief contact,   
  
  
A slight tingling sensation was left on his skin.   
  
  
Wosoeok successfully pretends that it doesn't affect him in the slightest.   
  
  
The shorter sat himself down one of the plush, brown couches, setting down his tea on the wooden coffee table.   
  
  
He was able to finish half a cup before he hesitantly threw a guarded look at Seungyoun.   
  
  
The tall young artist in question had his broad back to him—busying himself in setting up another easel with a fresh, blank canvass.   
  
  
  
Wooseok wanted to call out to him.   
  
  
  
But somehow, his nerves began to feel frazzled— he was too embarrassed to make the first move.   
  
  
  
Which was silly since they had already done this— _three times_ —before.   
  
  
  
_There is nothing to be shy now._   
  
  
  
  
It wasn't like it was something... _special_ .   
  
  
  
  
_This is nothing at all._   
  
  
  
  
  
Wooseok looked down, curling slightly as the sudden sourness that was building up on his chest... _Is this the feeling of cowardice?_   
  
  
  
Idly tugging at a loose thread he spotted on the hem of his soft yellow sweater—a sigh of resignation escaped his lips.   
  
  
  
Surprisingly, his small sound was heard by the handsome young painter.   
  
  
  
"Wooseok." Seungyoun called.   
  
  
  
The sound of his name being said in the painter's distinct voice—crystal clear with a slight, airy lilt...   
  
  
_it takes his breath away._   
  
  


The young painter's eyes were clear—mesmerizing, as he walked towards the couch where the petite figure of his guest was sitting still.  
  


  
  


The loud beating of Wooseok's heart was ridiculously in _sync_ with each steps that Seungyoun took towards him.

  
  


Soon, the painter's tall, broad frame loomed over him—so close and within reach.

  
  


  
"Shall we begin?" Seungyoun asked tilting up Wooseok's chin with his fingers.   
  
  


  
The smaller nodded, not trusting himself to say anything as he was rendered mute by the proximity.

  
  


“Bed?” Seungyoun asked.

  
  


  
“No." Wooseok finds his voice, barely above a whisper.   
  
  
  
  
_His heart wouldn't be able to handle it if they are on the bed._   
  
  
  
  
  
"The couch is fine."   
  
  
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
  
  
"I'll go ahead now, okay?" Seungyoun said after carefully folding Wooseok's shirt and hanging it on the arm of the nearby couch.   
  
  
"Okay." Wooseok replied.   
  
  
The weak tremble in his tone went unnoticed.   
  
  
  
  
Soon, the pair find themselves situated comfortably on the plush, beige sofa:   
  
Wooseok was perched on the edge of it while Seungyoun was haunched down on the floor, fitting himself cozily between Wooseok's legs.   
  
  
  
And before any of you could allow your minds to wander into the _'less innocent'_ territories, be informed that the scene is—sadly—a lot more platonic than what the rather provocative position would usually imply.   
  
  
  
Sort of.   
  
  
  
(Well, maybe a little bit)   
  
  
  
It had been a month since they have begun this sort of _'arrangement'_ : meeting once a week in Seungyoun's loft apartment—specifically every Fridays—for the simple reason of creating portraits.   
  
  
Seungyoun had asked Wooseok to be his muse and the shorter had accepted easily.   
  
  
  
As repeatedly mentioned again and again, Cho Seungyoun is a _painter_ —   
  
  
a rare gem of a _prodigy_ at that.   
  
  
  
At the very young age of eleven, his skills is nothing like they have ever seen before.   
  
  


  
Seungyoun originally prefers to paint sceneries and landscapes...   
  
  
And every one of his work had left the critics and public absolutely astounded by its surprisingly _'soulful'_ quality.   
  
  
And it had only grown more and more **_tangible_ ** as the young prodigy improves through the years.   
  
  
The deep-seated loneliness of an abandoned train station, or the resilience of a paper boat valiantly refusing to succumb to the rushes of the river...   
  
  
  
He could capture these perfectly on canvass—from the smallest insignificant details to the overall atmosphere and even the underlying emotions that the sceneries possess.   
  
  
  
He does it so well that by just looking at his work, one would be able to feel the unbearably desolate atmosphere or the cool lapping of water against one's feet—as if being transported into the very place or scene itself.   
  
  
  
Only the word "genius" could be used to describe Cho Seungyoun.   
  
  
  
  
And Seungyoun was exactly—the then, faceless—genius painter whose works had managed to cause a stir in young Wooseok's heart two years ago.   
  
  
It was fate when the younger had come across a set of painting in one of those fancy galleries.   
  
  
The theme was "Dreams".   
  
  
  
And for one Kim Wooseok—who had spent almost all his life working for dreams that are _not_ his own,   
  
  
The emotions within each individual pieces had called out to him—had made all the hidden yearnings of his heart bloom.   
  
  
  
It was a life-changing moment.   
  
  
  
From then on, he had admired the mysterious, faceless artist from the bottom of his heart.   
  
  
  
Sadly Wooseok soon learned that the painter went on an indefinite hiatus for undisclosed reasons.   
  
  
_What a pity it was!_   
  
  
  
He had regretfully thought that the story would end just like that— slowly to be buried into the recesses of his mind.   
  
  
  
But once again, fate had determined that they should meet.   
  
  
_and Wooseok didn't know if he should be grateful._   
  
  
  
‘Surprising’ was an _understatement_ of how their first meeting went.   
  
  
  
Wooseok had been speechless upon finally seeing the enigmatic painter in flesh.   
  
  
It was such a great feeling—being able to put a face on the mysterious artist of which he holds genuine admiration to.   
  
  


_And oh! What a beautiful face he has!_   
  
  


  
_"Would you like to be my muse?"_ Cho Seungyoun had asked out of the blue.   
  
  
Those simple words had shocked Wooseok silly. And he didn't even think twice.   
  
  
Overwhelmed, Wooseok had agreed.   
  
  
  
  
And like a domino effect, it had led him to his current predicament.   
  
  
  
_A predicament of feelings._

  
  


Because you see,

  
  


Wooseok soon discovered one of the _main_ secrets on how Seungyoun could capture and portray a scenery so _vividly_ in his paintings…

  
  
  


He had to _experience_ it firsthand with _his_ very senses…

  
  


To see,

To smell,

To touch,

  
  
  
  


To _taste_ … if possible.

  
  


It turns out, Seungyoun would go to all these places, he would make sure to touch and study every object… taking a few minutes, a few hours, a few _days_ even!

  
  


Just to bask in the atmosphere of the scene with all his senses. To quietly pick out the traces of sentiments and old stories that each scene held.

  
  
  


And this habit had remained with the painter still…

  
  
  


Even if his subject is—for the first time—not a scenery…but a person.

  
  
  
  


That is Cho Seungyoun's most _unusual_ quirk….

  
  
  


And it was Wooseok's undoing.

  
  
  
  
  


"Your collarbones look beautiful when the light hits you like this."  
  


  
Seungyoun whispered, appreciatively tracing his finger along the smooth skin of the smaller boy's neck... dragging it slowly down to the dip of his collarbones.   
  
  
  
Wooseok's face coloured, looking away— while the taller's firm, exploring hands continue to carefully mapped out the smaller male's bare torso.   
  
  
Wooseok's hands—that are resting on Seungyoun's _equally bare_ , broad shoulders—shakes slightly   
  
  
Of course, between the two of them, Seungyoun being topless was quite _unnecessary_ .   
  
  
It's just that, the young painter honestly thought that Wooseok would be _'less embarrassed'_ if he was not the _only_ one who was half-naked.   
  
  
  
_He couldn't be more wrong._   
  
  
  
But Wooseok could never bring himself to turn down Seungyoun's offer.   
  
  
  
Because he secretly _yearns_ for this type of closeness.   
  
  
  
A closeness he can only experience by selfishly pretending he does not feel anything at all.   
  
  
  
But foolish was he to hold on to such deceitful path.   
  
  
  
For at the sight of Seungyoun's pale torso—his chiseled body and and beautifully inked skin—had given Wooseok more of these 'urges'   
  
  
Urges that he couldn't quite act upon.   
  
  
The frustrating urge to touch and caress the perfectly sculpted features of the handsome painter too—just like how the taller was granted the same liberty towards Wooseok's body.   
  
  
_It just riles him up even more._

  
  


  
"I am surprised that you wore shorts today." Seungyoun continued, pulling away slightly to comfortably sit down on the polished wooden floor.   
  
  
  
"Why is it surprising?" The smaller asked.   
  
  
  
Seungyoun went silent for a moment, picking up one of Wooseok's hands that was placed on his shoulder before fiddling with the smaller's long, slim fingers.   
  
  


The young painter tends to pause randomly every once in a while—as if muling over sudden thoughts that comes to him.

  
  


Thoughts that he usually just keeps to himself.

  
  
"It's just that... this is the first time I saw you out of your uniform." Seungyoun picks up the conversation after a few moments of silence.

  
  


This is referring to the fact that during all of Wooseok's previous visits, he was _always_ in his school uniform.   
  
  
  
That's obviously not true though.   
  
  
  
Seungyoun _had_ seen Wooseok out of his school uniform.

  
  


He did even more than just _see_ .   
  
  
(But you know, semantics.)   
  
  
  
  
"Is there something wrong with it?" Wooseok asked, a bit insecure.   
  
  
"No, not at all." Seungyoun was quick to assure him.   
  
  
The taller glides his hand on top of Wooseok's knee and up his smooth thigh—which was exposed under his faded denim shorts that had ridden up.   
  
  
The petite male's grip on the painter's shoulder tightens _ever so slightly_ at the sudden caress.   
  
  
"Your legs are very pretty...and your ankles," the painter lifted Wooseok's right foot and gently cradled it on his lap. "... they look as if they would easily break with the slightest pressure..."   
  
  
"...they are really delicate." Seungyoun murmured in thought.   
  
  
  
He always say that.   
  
  
Uttering the words like _"pretty_ " and _"beautiful"_ with objective appreciation.   
  
  
Nothing more.   
  
  
Just like how someone compliments a flower—even if you find it very beautiful, you don't fall in love with it that way.   
  
  
And sadly, Seungyoun's actions had made it clear to Wooseok that it is the similar type of admiration he has for him.   
  
  
Because despite the generous shower of compliments,   
  
  
Despite the gentle touches,   
  
  
Despite being alone and—for goodness sake!— **_half-naked_ ** together,   
  
  
  
  
  
Never _once_ was there **_any_ ** ripple on Seungyoun's expression.

  
  


Not a hint of desire at all.  
  
  
  
  
Just the thoughtfulness of an appraiser examining a precious artifact.   
  
  
  
And Wooseok had come to realize that Seungyoun is straight.   
  
  
And that he, himself is a _masochist_ .   
  
  
Because he relishes in the young painter's touches—even if he'd feel empty and hurt once Seungyoun lets go.   
  
  
  
So Wooseok closes his eyes.   
  
  
  
Willingly trading a night of tears in favor for a few moments of deluding himself into feeling the _warmth_ of the young painter's touch.   
  
  
  
Because even until now, Wooseok couldn't help but be drawn into him.   
  
  
  
Still nursing the silly admiration of a fan that had developed into something **_more_ ** .   
  
  
Wooseok had deeply admired the the mysterious painter who has ignited his desire to dream...   
  
  
But the one he fell in love with is Cho Seungyoun.   
  
  
Not just the artistic genius Seungyoun,   
  
  
But also charming, beautiful, kind, quirky, and sentimental Cho Seungyoun—who he had only met a month ago and is of the same age as him.   
  
  
  
The one before him right now.   
  
  
  
So close but out of reach.   
  
  
  
***   
  
  
  
"Can I see the portraits?" Wooseok asked Seungyoun as the taller had insisted on helping him slide back into his clothes.   
  
  
  
The smaller lets him.   
  
  
  
"It's not finished." Seungyoun said with an small airy chuckle, taming down a wisp of hair that was awkwardly sticking out on Wooseok's head.   
  
  
"I don't mind." Wooseok said.   
  
  
  
He wondered about how Seungyoun would interpret his poorly concealed feelings.   
  
  
  
Once and for all, Wooseok want to see what Seungyoun thinks of him through seeing his painting...   
  
  
For he was not brave enough to ask that from the young man himself.   
  
  
  
"Next time Wooseokie..." Seungyoun said with a gentle smile that feeds Wooseok with even more foolish delusions.   
  
  
“Soon, I promise."   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you like more stories written in this style?
> 
> Your feedbacks will be greatly appreciated! (I'll write all of it down on my journal for me to improve on in the future)
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: PALETTE OF DARKER SHADES (Seungyoun's side focus)
> 
> *will probably post tomorrow, please look forward to it if this interests you 👀


	2. Palette of Darker Shades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be another wordy narrative featuring Seungyoun's side of the story.
> 
> Warning: too much of Wooseok's Beauty
> 
> You have been warned. 😂

  
Painting is Seungyoun's first love.   
  
  
With bright eyes, he had looked at the world and indeed found it so beautiful,   
  
  
So colourful,   
  
  
And so  _ magical _ .   
  
  
With each place he visits, he had spent time in trying to discover their stories.   
  
  
The way each place had accumulated so much memories, so much emotions throughout the passage of time—

  
  


culminating into a unique atmosphere of its own.   
  
  
It fascinates him immensely.   
  
  
  
His inspiration was overflowing as he paints,   
  
  
And paints,   
  
  
And  _ paints _ .   
  
  
  
Until one day he suddenly noticed something changed.   
  
  
Every place he went, he could only pick out the traces of  _ loneliness _ .   
  
  
Melancholy, emptiness, desolation—different shades of it but just  _ 'loneliness' _ all the same.   
  
  
At first he continued to search and search for places that are happy: but things became less interesting for him already.   
  
  
As he touched the things, it wasn't any good.   
  
  
As he tries to bask in the ambience like he always does, there was a nagging feeling that he had felt it before already— _ nothing special _ .   
  
  
  
Soon, the young genius descended into the quagmire of stagnation.   
  
  
  
The longingness to paint was gone—leaving him hollow inside.   
  
  
So his indefinite hiatus had began.   
  
  
  
A hiatus he thinks he  _ won't _ get out of.   
  
  
Seungyoun had shut himself from the world—the world he used to find so beautiful.   
  
  
He  _ mourned _ the loss of his first love...   
  
  
  
Mourned the loss of the bright young painter Cho Seungyoun.   
  
  
  
  
  
Until one day...   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Seungyoun saw an  _ angel _ .   
  
  
  
  
  
  
_ "Hyung! This is the sunbae that I was talking to you about." _ Dohyon excitedly gestured at the beautiful youth that he brought along.   
  
  
  
_ "Hello, my name is Kim Wooseok." _ The beautiful one with the modest stature introduced himself.   
  
  
Seungyoun was in silent  _ awe _ at the sight of him.   
  
  
  
There was a  _ profoundness _ in his beauty:    
  
  
Calm and reserved—with an unmistakable splendor that shone through.   
  
  
His features were delicately sculpted—cheekbones fine and pronounced. With a nose that is slender and perfectly shaped.   
  
  
The said angel stood with a bit of distance away from the captivated painter—his small, lithe frame taking on a politely formal stance as he looks at Seungyoun intently.   
  
  
The youth's manner could easily be mistaken for aloofness.   
  
  
But thankfully, Seungyoun was able to pick up the star-like shine within the beautiful boy's eyes coupled with the slight arch of his brows—giving off the impression of mixed delight and surprise,    
  
  
  
_ rather, like a startled doe. _   
  
  
  
Seungyoun's sentimental heart sparked with renewed artistic inspiration.   
  
  
  
For the first time in a  _ while _ , the young genius painter finally felt a familiar longing once again—   
  
  
The longingness to capture all of this lovelines.   
  
  
To immortalize it on canvas,   
  
  
  
The angel who saved his heart from spiraling into a bleak, dreamless sleep forever.   
  
  
***   
  


  
  


His skin was luminous.   
  
His charmingly small mouth slightly parted. Lips—so pretty and naturally pink—with the lower lip marginally fuller than the upper.   
  
His eyes are currently squeezed shut—large and strikingly limpid soft brown irises hidden behind tender eyelids.   
  
  
Even if it was this is the first time Seungyoun was able to hold Wooseok like  _ this _ ,   
  
  
The young genius painter had already imprinted his muse's enthralling eyes on his memory:   
  
  
Having spent an ample amount of time quietly admiring them during their few friendly coffee dates before this—just so they can get more comfortable working with each other.   
  
  
Though today, Seungyoun had caught a glimpse of something  _ new _ as the smaller male's dark pupils were blown wide—containing a feverish heat.   
  
  
The young painter was surprised.   
  
  
It was like a catalyst—feeling as if liquid fire was injected into his blood.   
  
  
And, had Wooseok chose to open his eyes at that very moment,   
  
  
He would have seen the  _ exact _ time Seungyoun's eyes mirror the same passionate flame on his own.   
  
  
  
For a split second, everything was disoriented.   
  
  
But the next moment, Seungyoun found himself hovering over Wooseok's figure— the one that he had  _ unknowingly _ pinned down the mattress.   
  
  
The very mesmerising pair of brown eyes staring up at the young painter in utmost shock.   
  
  
Meanwhile, the look on Seungyoun's now heavily-lidded pair, was hidden by the shadows—casted by his bangs that had fallen into disarray.   
  
  
"Seungyoun..." Wooseok literally gasped his name.   
  
  
  
the tension was thick and suffocating. It grew more unbearable as the silence stretched between them.   
  
  
Seungyoun was able to gather back his bearings in this short amount of time.   
  
  
  
"I'm sorry, but..." Seungyoun spoke, voice impeccably controlled.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Please... Will you allow me to touch you some more?"   
  
  
***   
  
  
  


After the first time,  
  
  
Seungyoun had been certain that would be the last time he would see Wooseok.  
  
  
Mainly because of how he had acted.  
  
  
He knew he had been out of line.  
  
  
He had taken _advantage_ of the kindness of Wooseok's heart.  
  
  
Seungyoun deserves a punch, honestly.  
  
  
  
But Wooseok didn't give him that.  
  
  
  
And to the young genius painter's pleasant surprise,  
  
  
  
  
His beautiful Wooseok still turned up in front of his apartment the next week.  
  
  
  
With a determined expression, the shorter looked at Seungyoun in the eyes.  
  
  
 _"I'll do all I can to help you love painting again."_  
  
  
His beautiful muse had said—cute and fiery at the same time.  
  
  
  
  
  
And the artist's heart _melted_.  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Since Seungyoun had already— _ahem_ —had a closer look at Wooseok's body that one time,  
  
  
The young painter thought of observing Wooseok's many _expressions_ next.  
  
  
Carrying the basket of DVD's he had rented, Seungyoun made his way into the room...  
  
  
Completely not expecting to see the scene that greeted him.  
  
  
"Wooseok, what—?" The young genius painter was momentarily struck dumb.  
  
  
It was like getting hit on the head with a sharp blow.  
  
  
Sitting on his bed, was Kim Wooseok—who was in the process of shrugging off his shirt.  
  
  
The shorter man filched at Seungyoun's appearance.  
  
  
"Why are you removing your shirt angel?" Seungyoun blurted out without thinking.  
  
  
Wooseok looked taken aback at the question.  
  
  
  
"W-What? I thought..." The smaller stammered. "Are... aren't you going to..."  
  
  
Seungyoun watched as his pure, jade white skin slowly blooms pink.  
  
  
 _Ah! How beautiful..._  
  
  
Embarrassed by Seungyoun's speechlessness,  
  
  
Wooseok hurriedly tries to stuff his arms back into the sleeves of his shirt.  
  
  
Brown eyes glazing over in overwhelming shame and distress—it made the tall painter's heart ache so painfully.  
  
  
"Hey, no. Wooseok-ah..." Seungyoun quickly rushed to his side. "I'm sorry I'm dumb."  
  
  
  
"Why are you apologising?" Wooseok muttered refusing to look as Seungyoun while trying to move away.  
  
  
  
But Seungyoun pulled him into his embrace.  
  
  
  
He felt the smaller boy went still.  
  
  
  
Once again, Seungyoun _touched_ him—a repeat of the one before.  
  
  
But this time, it was more about comforting his muse instead of studying him closely.  
  
  
  
Nevertheless, the young painter had experienced new sets of feelings— _completely_ _different_ from the ones before.  
  
  
  
It feels like he would never be quite _'done'_ with studying Wooseok.  
  
  
  
There are endless things to know about his adorable muse.  
  
  
  
With hair fine as silk,  
  
  
Skin soft and sweet-smelling.  
  
  
Indeed, _'that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'_  
  
  
Wooseok is a rose.  
  
  
And Seungyoun had no idea how he suddenly became a poet.  
  
  
  
***  
  


  
  
  
_ No, this isn't it. _ _   
_ _   
_ _   
_ _   
_ _   
_ _ Wrong. _ _   
_ _   
_ _   
_ _   
_ _ It's not enough, _ _   
_ _   
_ _   
_ _   
_ _ Something is missing. _   
  


  
  
  
Seungyoun pulled at his hair in frustration, throwing yet another half-painted canvas down the sad pile on the floor.   
  
  
  
He had tried to paint the portrait—again and again.   
  
  
  
Yet he was unsatisfied.   
  
  
  
He couldn't quite portray Wooseok  _ right _ .   
  


  
  
He couldn't capture his beautiful muse.   
  
  
  
The previous paintings...it does not hold the impact that Seungyoun knows he could bring out.   
  
  
  
Frustrated and sleep-deprived, Seungyoun changed palette—picking darker colors to fit his mood.   
  
  
  
He sifted through the feelings he associates Wooseok with—which was a whole  _ lot _ .   
  
  
He tried to focus on one feeling—because each of the different emotions tries to overpower the other...   
  
  
In a daze, he began to paint. Hands moving on autopilot, mind too sluggish during the late midnight hour.   
  
  
He went on mindlessly,   
  
  
streak after streak,   
  
  
after streak,   
  
  
A portrait took form.   
  
  
  
  
  
Seungyoun dropped the paintbrush he held.   
  
  
He sucked in a harsh breath that was punctuated by the sound of brush clattering against the floor.   
  
  
  
  
Void of his usual innocent aura, the person in the painting is alluring, captivating...   
  
  
And so unbelievably...  _ desirable _ .   
  
  
Smooth porcelain skin, white as untouched snow—a harsh contrast against the heavy, angry strokes of bold colors that represents the painter's darkest desires.   
  


  
Almond-shaped eyes gorgeously lined in pitch black acrylic stares back beckoningly—soulful and seemingly alive.   
  


  
The pretty pair of rose-coloured lips painted into a ghost of a seductive smile slyly thrown over one exposed pale shoulder.   
  


  
The delicate features, holding an absolutely stunning semblance of the shy schoolboy who had agreed to be his muse.   
  
  
  
The painting before him right now could possibly be his greatest masterpiece to date.   
  


  
It had gathered all his emotions and overflowing subconscious desires he tries to bury deep within.   
  
  
And just like all of his greatest works, this painting held a palpable magnetism that could grip the audience and leaving them in awe with its beauty...    
  
  
One couldn't help but be stunned under its soulful gaze—with a touch of tender melancholy that intrigues the mind.   
  
  
Its enchanting smile that held so much stories—it made his heart race.   
  
  
It was magnificent! Perfect!   
  
  


  
And so breathtakingly  _ sensual _ .   
  


  
  


  
  
The young genius painter is scared to see what he held in his own heart.   
  
  
So beautiful and wretched.   
  
  
  
_ What would his sweet pretty schoolboy think about this? _   
  
  
  
Would he still look at Seungyoun with those beautiful admiring eyes?   
  
  
  
Anyone who will be able to catch even a glimpse of this painting would be able to tell.   
  
  
That he didn't want to paint him.   
  
  
He wanted to  _ taint _ him.   
  
  
To ruin his perfect white skin with the darker colors from his secret palette...   
  


  
To corrupt his pure, unblemished beauty...   
  
  
  
To brand him as his own…   
  


  
  
  
  


_ No! _

  
  


Seungyoun shook his head vigorously—trying to dispel these dark, midnight thoughts.

  
  


He glared at the absolutely stunning piece that  **_no one_ ** else should see.

  
  


He yanked it off his easel—and since the portrait is yet to dry, the colors where Seungyoun's hand had gripped was smudged and ruined.

  
  


He tried not to hesitate as he was about to toss it carelessly along the discarded pile.

  
  
  


But

  
  
  
  


He couldn't.

  
  
  


With another hiss of frustration, he looked at the painting once again.

  
  
  


He stood up, steps heavy as if he is really conflicted.

  
  


The tall form of the painter, along with his new work of art, disappeared into the door located on the more discreet corner of his atelier.

  
  
  


The room where he keeps his most special masterpieces.

  
  


***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This new style I'm trying is quite difficult for me. But I hope I managed to deliver the feelings properly. 😭
> 
> *sigh*
> 
> I hope to hear good news from X1 so that I can finally be motivated to start another HAPPY story huhu
> 
> Anyway, THANK YOU! Feedbacks are very much appreciated because I am looking into branching out into different, more serious genres. 
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


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